On the Other Side of a Smile
by FannyT
Summary: Thw twins are always laughing, never showing weakness or pain. Yet they, too, have been touched by the war. And there is one young Auror who watches them, wishing that they would once just once let themselves be helped.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.   
On the Other Side of a Smile 

The twins are singing again.

"One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer, you pick one up and pass it around, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall…"

She has seen kids who wear shirts saying things like "Can You See Thestrals?" They make up their faces in black and white, paint the lightning scar upside down on their foreheads and gather in darkened cafés and bars to talk about the pain of living. And she knows that many laugh at them – she understands it – but there's something in their eyes that tells her for some of them, it's not just a game.

She has seen kids who put their wand to their own skin, burning into the flesh, hexing, jinxing, steadily worse and worse until they're casting curses at their mirror, closing their eyes as the curse rebounds – in what? In pleasure, in despair? Most often, it's both…

She has seen much during the few short years she has been an Auror. Part of her work is to take care of broken families, try to repair what Dark Wizards destroyed. She has seen many ways of dealing with pain. She has seen things that have made her cringe, or scream, or cry. But nothing she has seen has torn her heart like the twins' laughter.

"…pass it around, ninety-two bottles of beer on the wall! Ninety-two bottles of beer on the wall…"

It's the way they act as if everything is the same as ever. She doubts that anyone in their local Phoenix chapter even knows what has happened to them, to their family. The eldest brother suddenly gone, no one knows where. Maybe the war, maybe the wolf inside him taking hold, maybe something other altogether… there was no way of telling. The third brother estranged from the family – it started as a simple fight, and soon it had gone further than anyone intended until it's now no longer possible to go back to what has been, no matter whether they want it or not. The last brother broken and crippled from a battle with Death Eaters, fought at his best friend's side. The youngest, the sister, in St Mungo's… still seeing Tom Marvolo Riddle inside her head.

"Seventy-eight bottles of beer! You pick one up…"

They quit their work at the joke shop. Not that there was much choice. The shop was blown up some time after the war started for real, by a group of Death Eaters looking for fun. "Muggle-loving bastards", "dirty-blooded", "perverted freaks" – these were the phrases that were shouted at the windows, mingled with drunken yells and laughter, until the Aurors started Apparating and the Death Eaters disappeared from the scene. Fred and George didn't laugh as they boarded up the windows and put out signs that said FOR SALE; they didn't laugh as they salvaged what little could be saved from the destruction and left the shop they had poured their soul into.

But the next day they were back as if nothing had ever happened. At the next Order meeting they acted out the attack on their home, with Fred making a grotesque parody of the Death Eaters' drunken spell casting and George playing the house, first standing with both arms outstretched and then letting them gradually fall to his side, then sagging to one side, to his knees… All the while he was screaming in falsetto, "It burns us, it burns us!" The other Order members were laughing. If it had been anyone else they would have been nervous, not knowing how to act, but with Fred and George it's easier. You know you don't have to pretend with them; you can just let loose. Find something to laugh at, no matter what happens.

She didn't laugh. Not even when George let his right fist "explode", splaying his fingers suddenly and violently, and cried "Oh no, not my right top window!" She knew she was regarded stiff and cold for that – strange in her, who is usually bright and chipper – but she couldn't laugh. Not when she had been one of the first on the scene, and seen the look in their eyes as they stared up at what had been their life.

"…Sixty-four bottles of beer on the wall… oh come on, you all know the tune… sixty-four bottles of beer!"

They could have started over. They still had the money, and although housing is getting harder and harder to find in Diagon Alley they could still have found a space to rebuild their shop. They chose to move out and use the money for buying a bigger house in the Alley, turning it into a motel, a place to stay for those who have none. Many of the Aurors come and go in their house, always welcome. It is bright and happy there – filled with their spirit. Yet when they are alone, do they laugh? Do they sing? Do they stand on their heads and perform acrobatic tricks, doing anything for attention like they do in the company of others?

They are loved by all they come into contact with. "They're so _natural_; always make you laugh just being so happy themselves." Yes, you are happy in the company of the twins. The Aurors, the Order of the Phoenix members, everyone who fights against the dark forces at work – they are all forcing themselves to smile, to live, to forget about the war and what's happening every day Voldemort still lives. It's easier in the company of Fred and George Weasley. You don't have to work as hard to keep acting as if your life is still normal; smiling comes easy, without effort. The others think it's because the twins are naturally easy-going, not affected by war in the same way that the beauty of a rose remains unchallenged no matter how many weeds should crop up beside it.

She doesn't think that it's that easy – rather, that the twins are just better at hiding their pain.

"You pick one up and pass it around, _fifty_ bottles of beer on the wall…"

She walked in on them once, in the kitchen, when they had just received a letter from their second oldest brother. They were standing with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, both holding on to the other as if the presence of their twin was the only thing to stop them from going under. She could see Fred's hands shaking. When they became aware of her they sprang apart immediately, looking at her for a moment in stunned silence. Then Fred grinned, shoving his brother lightly. "Sheez," he said, "I know you're scared of rats but you don't have to jump me like that for an innocent dormouse!"

She faked a laugh and rolled her eyes at Fred's re-enactment of the scene, scolding him when he jumped onto a kitchen chair and pretended to lift his skirts. Later she broke into their room and found the letter from Charlie. The twins had written to him, she knew, asking if he knew anything about the whereabouts of the eldest Weasley, Bill. The reply told them Charlie hadn't heard from his brother for months. The ink was smudged in places as if by tears, fallen while the ink was still fresh, and Charlie's tone was tired, despairing.

She sat in the room for a long time, hating the war, the futility of it all and her own paralysing helplessness.

"…thirty-nine bottles of beer – hey, does anyone have a beer? Can't understand why, but I _suddenly_ felt like having one…"

When they go out on work for the Order, they always go out together. No one has even contemplated separating them. That would be like trying to applaud with one hand. They are two parts of a whole, neither complete without the other. This has become even more pronounced since the start of the war, since the disappearance of Bill, since the death of their shop. It's like each new tragedy reminds them of the frailty of what they have – and that they want to make sure that, more than anything, they never lose each other. You never see them apart anymore, not for a minute. In their shared room, the beds have been pulled together until not even an inch separates them.

Some laugh at their ever-increasing closeness, to which they reply – as always – with a joke. "If one of us goes down, it's good to have a carbon copy close at hand," George laughs, and Fred expands on a story about how they are in fact a weapon conceived by the Order of the Phoenix – the new generation, the first in an army of identical, ready-to-fight clones. In fact, they confide, they are not Arthur and Molly's sons: they are especially-designed warriors, meant to be the perfect, efficient killer. (Somewhere around here, they go on to boast about their own superiority.) From anyone else, these stories would be tasteless and disturbing. From the twins they are innocent, provoking only laughter.

"…so you _pick_ one up and _pass_ it around, twenty-three bottles of beer on the wall!"

There are some things they never speak about. They never talk about their sister and her ever increasing bouts of madness over the last year, until at last she was admitted to St. Mungo's – at that stage hardly recognizing her family anymore. They never parody Ron's halting walk. They never mention Percy. But she doesn't think anyone notices.

She doesn't blame them, either. They all have enough to worry about with their own lives. And if Fred and George choose not to show how much pain their torn family has given them, how can anyone be expected to help?

She wonders how much it costs them, never to stop their jokes and their laughter. Well, of course, they are solemn during Order meetings and they know when jokes are best left untold. However, they never seem to give in to the lethargy and despair that takes hold of them all at some point or another. They are always full of energy, having enough even to share with others. They never give in, they never break down, they never sit in a corner and scream out their anguish. At least… not among others.

"…fourteen bottles of beer on the wall! Fourteen bottles of beer on the wall, fourteen bottles of beer…"

Maybe it's because they have always been two. Because they have always lived close together, sharing everything, as if they were only one person instead of two separate – is that why they have never confided in others? When they understand each other without speaking, did they never learn to share pain by using words? Is that why, even now, they turn to each other for comfort, never letting anyone else come as close?

She wishes she could help them. Because seeing them smile is like watching glass break. Behind their laughing faces are two people who hurt, but give no access to anyone but themselves.

"Tonks, come on! Only ten bottles left, join us!"

She shakes her head, turns away. She can't smile with them. Not until they learn how to cry.

The End 


End file.
